Homecoming
by Isailaway
Summary: My take on what could happen? Rubbish summary I know but a few (possible) spoilers in here so please don't read if you are not sure.
1. Chapter 1

**So - I went and spoiled myself. A silly thing to do as I am now even more impatiently counting down til each episode. But then hey ho - this came out of my fevered imagination all of a sudden, and since there are far too few DIP fics, I thought I would share it. I have nearly written the second (and probably last) ****chapter.**

**If you don't want to go ****anywhere near spoilers then please don't read until - well I don't know when? Alternatively - seeing as there is nothing that sticks out as obvious, and it's only my take on snippets read and seen, you could read on and think of it as a hopeful wish on my part. Your choice. :-)**

**Like Dallas all those years ago...it could all be a dream!**

**They are not mine, but any mistakes in the writing are...**

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"So…erm, well, when I didn't see you at the airport, I thought I'd drop by and see..., well you know, bring you up to speed on what the Commissioner had to say." Richard stumbled over his words, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably as he stood in the doorway.

"Your mother let me in," he continued when no answer was forthcoming. " Something about she'd forgotten to tell you she had to meet friends before going to the bar, and not to expect her until late?"

"Ok." Camille, unusually, didn't know how to reply. He was here, in the doorway to her room and it was so unbelievably unexpected that all the customary graceful confidence she exuded had disappeared. Replacing it with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach and nothing to say.

"So?" he prompted.

"So?"

"Are you interested in the Commissioners new ideas? I personally think the course he went on has gone to his head just a bit but….." he trailed off self-consciously.

"Yes, yes of course. Please come in." She smiled tightly and took a step backwards, beckoning him into the room.

Richard frowned. He had never ventured across her threshold before; the few times he had visited her mothers house, he had hovered politely outside, refusing all entreaties to come in and have a drink whilst he waited. But here he was, and it ought to feel like a momentous occasion. There ought to have been only one reason to be invited; a path along which his mind had taken to wandering of it's own accord recently. Anything else; friends sharing a drink or colleagues sharing information could be conducted elsewhere. This didn't feel quite right, he just couldn't put his finger on why.

Catching sight of the uncertainty in his face, whilst simultaneously doing her level best not to look at him at all, Camille's heart sank. She knew by now what a stickler for propriety he was, how old fashioned, and no doubt he was musing on the inappropriate nature of entering a 'colleagues' room. _Ugh, he was so English, so uptight. _She used the word metaphorically since she no longer felt like a colleague. Hadn't for a long time. But then, even if he were merely a work acquaintance she would have still had no compunction about inviting him into her bedroom. It simply wasn't a big deal in this day, age or country!

Smoothing down her skirt with damp hands she observed him looking around for somewhere to perch that wasn't the bed. _He hadn't even noticed, what on earth was she trying to do to herself, it was so unlike her. _

She had privately acknowledged her strange fascination with this Englishman, even become comfortable with such a silly little crush on her superior officer a while ago. Had reasoned that it was a case of opposites attract, or a need for some excitement in her life following the collapse of her undercover job, someone so different from anyone else she had ever met or spent time with that intrigued her. Conceding this to herself though, and having some sort of expectation of him returning her feelings were leagues apart and right now disappointment was winning the war against hope in her chest.

With a start Camille pulled herself out of her internal musings. He had only landed two hours ago, had not only contended with an eight hour flight from London but had been greeted by a Commissioner eager to share the latest happenings on the Island and new ideas he had for developing the team. He must be shattered, had he even been home?

"I'm sorry, can I offer you a drink? I think my mother has some tea somewhere."

"Oh! Yes…, of course. Thank you Camille, that would be very nice."

He watched as she sidestepped past him and out of the door, wondering whether he should follow and also how it had come to pass that tea hadn't even been remotely in his thoughts.

More comfortable to look around the room now that Camille wasn't invading seemingly every corner, he was surprised by the simplicity and almost plainness of the room, a direct contrast to her spirit and vivaciousness. There was a low sideboard, with a TV and greetings cards dotted in front of it, a lamp and a plant, painting on the wall, and a bed. And that was about it. It wasn't as personal; as 'Camille' as he had expected or imagined.

Clearing his throat gruffly, he went in search of his Sergeant, following the noise of cupboards being opened and closed in turn, in search of his tea. Absorbed in the task, she hadn't noticed him so he allowed his gaze to roam over her, an impulse he very rarely gave into these days. It tended to upset the balance, to make him lose his train of thought at work; the focus he had always prided himself upon.

She had cut her hair, a smart short bob with each curly strand held carefully in position, he knew not how. It looked beautiful, although he couldn't help a slight pang of disappointment. He would miss the gorgeous tangle that she had been allowing to grow longer; that would cascade across her shoulders, swept away by her hands every now and then to cool her neck on hot days.

Richards's brow furrowed, taking in the rest of her. That was what he couldn't put his finger on; she was wearing a soft blue linen suit, with a white blouse beneath it. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before. She looked like she was on her way to a job interview, or if he weren't on a Caribbean Island, to work in any European Capital. It certainly complimented her figure and she looked stunning, but it wasn't his Camille. _His?_ _When had he begun referring to her as his?_

With a horrible twist of his guts, Richard moved back towards her room, needing space to process the gnawing feeling that was gathering without her seeing him.

_Surely she wasn't; this was her home. She wouldn't leave the Island would she? He had only just got back._


	2. Chapter 2

**I think I probably rushed the first chapter in my haste to post - worrying that seeing the latest episode might mean I had to totally rework it all. **

**Anyway, here is the second. Any and all feedback would be gratefully appreciated, so I can hopefully write something you all want to read.**

**I love the new fics popping up. Thanks all of you. Louise. :-)**

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"Here's your tea…..Richard?"

"What? Oh, thank you." He had been so absorbed in his negative train of thought; he'd missed her coming back into the room.

Reaching out to take the cup and saucer, their fingers brushed, sending sparks shooting all the way up his arm. The cup rattled, slopping warm liquid over the side and he swiftly turned to place it onto the chest of drawers to one side of him, anxious to cover up all signs of tension lest she question him on it.

"Sorry, jet lag."

"Don't worry, it's fine." Camille answered, similarly absorbed with her own goose bumps. Rubbing her hands briskly up and down her shirt covered arms as if cold, she continued. "How was London?"

Richards face instantly softened; lit up.

"Oh it was beautiful, you should have seen it. The red double decker buses contrast with the greyness of the stone of the buildings, the taxi drivers are just as grumpy as they ever were and a cold draught blows from the entrance to each tube station. There is traffic noise everywhere; thousands of grey suits on mobile phones trying to walk whilst reading newspapers. And the bare trees are just starting to bud. And it's a really delicate green you know? Not the deep green of the palm trees but somehow more fragile. It's, well, it's just London."

_What had she been hoping for? That he would have seen the light; returned with a newly found enthusiasm for her Island? Ha! What a joke._

Well the joke was on her.

Richard reached into his jacket pocket.

"I bought you a present."

Camille's jaw dropped in shock, a warm feeling suffusing her body and swiftly replacing the dismay from a second earlier.

"Really?" she covered it up with sarcasm. "Don't tell me. It's one of those snow globes with a miniature Buckingham Palace inside it that I can put on my desk and you can stare dreamily at when it's 40 degrees outside."

Richard attempted to look offended but in his nervousness felt he was failing to pull it off. He wasn't used to buying gifts.

"Actually…, well, it's here." He placed a small box containing a seashell shaped bar of lavender soap into her hand, withdrawing his fingers from hers slowly, unwillingly.

"I…, there was a shop I passed in London specializing in French gifts, and I…., I thought it smelt nice so I…" he shrugged awkwardy.

"So what you are saying is that I need to take a bath?"

"What? No!"

"But I smell, and am obviously in need of some...," She glanced down at the packaging "beautiful lavender scented soap?"

"But that's not, I mean, Camille! Why do you always do that?"

"Do what? First I am like a doll left on the shelf with a wonky eye. And not only that but I find I now have a body odor problem" A part of Camille knew that was not what the gift represented, that she was being more than a little unfair. But she wasn't sure she was ready to confront what it did mean. Besides, the arguments they often had were so much better than the nervous silence of earlier; they exhilarated her.

"I don't understand. I thought women liked receiving presents. Isn't that what friends do?"

"So Fidel and Dwayne; are they to be the grateful recipients of a similar hint at their cleanliness?"

"I didn't get anyone else a present!" Richard roared.

Camille had opened her mouth to fashion a retort but closed it again swiftly, a hush descending as they gaped at one another, eyes wide.

Richard was the first to drop his stare from hers; to break the tension, rolling his shoulders and letting out a long breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

"Richard, what are you wearing?"

"What?" His brain felt foggy, unable to keep up.

"Your shirt? What are you wearing?" Camille gestured towards his chest, and he followed the direction automatically, glancing down at himself.

"Oh that. I had the misfortune to be sat next to a two year old on the flight whose lunch didn't agree with them. This…." He tugged open his jacket, to reveal a deeply coloured casual shirt - the sort without top buttons - allowing the hollow of his throat and a few stray chest hairs to present themselves clearly to Camille stood opposite him. "…was the best they could come up with. Tie and shirt are all ruined. Luckily my jacket and trousers survived the experience."

It sort of suits you." The edges of Camille's mouth twitched. "I bet you are dying to get home and change aren't you."

"No," he denied whilst nodding in confirmation of the truth of her words and watching her smile of acknowledgement.

Not wanting to rock the boat again now their mood had lightened, and being unsure he wanted to hear the answer, but desperately curious, Richard took a deep breath. "And what about you? You look very smart this evening."

Camille's smile vanished, and she averted her gaze. Richard thought he caught the hint of a blush but couldn't really be sure.

No; he really wasn't going to like the answer.

"It's, it's nothing. Just a change." Where to start? She couldn't even begin to explain -didn't want to- how she had thought that dressing in a more European fashion might catch his eye; garner his approval. Persuade him that Saint Marie wasn't such a backwater.

If Richard's curiosity had grown from the evasive answer, then he wasn't going to show it. Letting the subject drop appeared to be by far the better option; for both of them.

A wave of exhaustion caught him suddenly and he stifled a yawn. He no longer felt like talking about work. It could wait. He was too tired. Too tired to deal with the tension that rose and fell like waves in the small room, and not brave enough to explore the reason behind its existence.

Clearing his throat, he shuffled his feet; took a swift gulp of his now lukewarm tea and prepared to take his leave.

"Ok; well, I'll leave you to your Friday evening. Have a lovely weekend Cam….." Richard broke off in shock as Camille's lips made contact with the corner of his mouth; her hands grasping firmly around his neck halting his movement towards the door.

She spoke in a low voice, withdrawing far enough to make eye contact. "Thank you for my gift."

She had been aiming for his cheek. A sudden decision brought on when he appeared to be leaving; her only thought to delay his course.

But now it wasn't enough.

A moment's hesitation and she inclined her head once more towards his. More deliberate this time, slowly asking for permission as her soft lips met and moved against his, gently tasting and exploring. Her heart was racing, her mouth curving up into a smile as she felt his shocked acquiescence merge into something more responsive. He was most definitely kissing her back.

As she gently withdrew once more, wanting, needing confirmation, his hands which had been hanging uselessly by his side came up to clutch at her shoulder blades, holding her to him, making it clear he was no longer heading for the door.

Triumphantly their mouths met for a third time; more demanding now. No further questions to be asked, each greedily taking as much of the other in as possible.

Richard wasn't sure who lowered/pulled who towards to the bed. He wasn't complaining.


End file.
